


Devil's voice

by Shadowmun



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: EWE, Emotional Sex, M/M, Post-Canon, Some angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-14 01:08:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29535228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadowmun/pseuds/Shadowmun
Summary: There is always this voice in my head. This isn't what you want...
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 14
Kudos: 14





	Devil's voice

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Becstar7](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Becstar7/gifts).



> I wanted to gift a story, and my muse happily obliged. Thank you muse... Thank you also to the people helping me, encouraging me, blessing me with comments, kudos, good stories and nice conversations.  
> As per usual: no native, no beta, no need to curb your opinion. Fire at will.

It's just a whisper at the back of my head, but I hate it with unparalleled intensity. This voice of dissatisfaction, this silent longing, this never-stilling advocatus diaboli.

This isn't, what you want. The tongue circling my cock, irrelevant, those baby-blue eyes looking up in adoration, or maybe hunger, shallow. The glorious cock, I intend to ride later on, unfulfilling. No wonder, I will leave, the moment, this is over. No wonder, I won't do repeats.

This voice sours even the sweetest conquests, disturbs even the greatest of pleasures.

It was silent only once. When those eyes were green, this hair was black, this cock, these hands, this skin were Potter's, all Potter's. But of course. This sweetest of all triumphs couldn't be spoiled. Teasing your childhood nemesis, make him eager and hot, until he forgets, how much he hates you and fucks you into the mattress and then some. And what a fuck that had been.

I don't do repeats, though, for repeats mean strings and doubts and feelings. Worst of all, feelings. I haven't allowed myself to feel since... forever. Since Voldemort, since my marking, since my year of fear and shame, since the bathroom (yes, _that_ bathroom), since... the invasion of Hogwarts.

So... I don't do repeats. Even when the voice goes on: This isn't what you want.

Mr. Babyblue Eyes stands no chance against it and is easily dismissed, discarded, forcing me back into the hunt. Back into the bowels of the club, droning with music I don't understand and I don't like either, but accept as necessary means to quiet that voice, even for a while.

Today it won't. It won't, I know, as the sweet poison of green finds my gaze, then my heart, then my cock. No. NO! Not today, not when the voice has already ruined one encounter. When I am desperate and vulnerable.

I try to turn away and find other eyes. Hazel or black or grey like my own, it doesn't matter. The voice draws on. This isn't, what you want.

A firm hand on my shoulder turns me around, firm lips hover over mine, giving me ample time to refuse, before closing in, a firm gaze pins me in place. And the voice falls away.

Other unpleasantries take its place. A sudden hoarseness of the throat, sudden tickle at the back of my neck, sudden tenseness of the limbs.

These lips steal my breath without hesitation or mercy, making my knees go weak. Oh, Harry.

"My place?" the dark, warm voice whispers near my ear, to low against the music and yet... I nod, distrusting my own voice. It is too good to be true, this feeling of belonging and want at the same time, as I get pushed back into a dark corner, circled around by the waist with gentle insistence, pinned against the wall and kissed heatedly, just before getting pulled along into apparition.

I barely notice the music falling silent, the lights changing, the coolness of the night air from an open window. I am fully occupied with those hands that slide along my sides, those lips leaving wet trails on my cheek. Damn, Harry.

My hands fight a losing battle against the lack of sight and unfamiliar Muggle clothing, while his function just fine. I feel my skin exposed and appreciated, caressed and ignited. I feel how he, who has finally grown into his body, embraces me, encases me, guides me back towards the oh so convenient but inornate bed, that irked the hell out of me, last time around.

I fall on my back on the mattress and can find nothing wrong with it now, especially when in addition to my comfortable position I am granted the most enticing view of sun-darkened skin over taut muscle none too slowly revealed. I always liked well-defined clear lines, and this... this fits the description of male beauty to almost ridiculous detail.

It doesn't help my peace of mind either, that his arousal is quite evident, both in his bulging erection, as he frees it almost desperately, and his somehow still innocent and shy smile. And, hard to forget, in those pleading eyes, green as always that can ask "May I?" better than any words.

I rise again, just enough to pull him down with me, close, darkened skin touching my pale one. Now it's me, hungrily catching lips, leaning in. My hands searching for one treasure and finding dozens, each worth exploring, each tempting in its own right. Those hands of mine are knowledgeable, clever, skillful, as they should be. And yet, despite all their experience, they come short against his more eager than artful attempts, or so I think.

The warm groans and moans are pleasurable, but one would think, I could achieve full submission. Instead I find myself needy and helpless.

It is my head, who falls back, my breath hitching, my eyes closing. His mouth on my throat, making my Adam's apple jump. Pressing my lips together, gritting my teeth is the last line of defense. I won't beg. I never do.

He assaults it with passion, kissing, licking, sucking it open, while his hands oh, these firm, strong hands, slowly move.

Little sparks run over my skin, when they part my thighs, one pressing knee between them, as soon as the path is open, his cock sliding against my own. Gods, Harry.

The warm, deep rumble beside my ear is back, sending shivers down my spine. “Tell me, what you want me to do...” No begging then. Commanding. Happily so. I growl and snarl and he obeys. Leaves a long wet line of licks and kisses, swirls around and over the nipples, over my chest, before diving deeper and deeper. His cruel breath tickles, his tongue, moist and heated, follows. “Yessss....” Heavenly this. Devotion.

It looks so right, this green I meet, when I look down. These lips alone, closing around me, are pure sin.

Only on my signal he starts circling my balls with his warm fingers, rubbing my pucker, just for a moment dipping.... Gods.... his tongue, to add preliminary lubrication. Wandless, he accios the real stuff, before returning to his initial, rather pressing task, producing positively obscene wet noises, when he licks the whole length, then sucks me in.

I hold on for dear life, holding onto the sheets of rough cotton, when those warm fingers first slide into my hole, hit my prostate... Heaven, really. Not yet, Harry.

I groan, no growl: “Fuck me already!” and only realize the coldness of the room, when his warm body is back above me, removing it from my skin.

Now his constraint is as threadbare as mine. With desperation he stuffs a pillow below my inviting ass and hips, then lines up, panting harshly.

He can't hold back for long. Only a dozen or so deep, hard, energetic thrusts, before he spills, each accompanied by a strong hand, pressed around mine on me, moving in unison. It is enough.

The climax is as sudden as it is breathtaking, pulling each muscle in my body taut, leaving scorched earth or lava or maybe dragonfire in my limbs, back, stomach, before the intensity settles down into a warm, satisfied burn.

He could just scourgify us both, spelling away the stick remnants of our activities. He does not. He gets a cloth and a bowl of warm water from the bathroom next door and caringly washes them away, in firm, tender movements, measured and controlled. Hell, Harry.

Finishing he spells away the bowl, crawls up, snuggling into my side, pulling blankets over us both, falling asleep in content tiredness.

I find, I like that warm body by my side. But still. Did I mention, I don't do repeats?

Gathering all my dented composure, I slip out of the bed, accio my clothes, once I find my wand, head for the door, my hand already hovering over the opener. This isn't what you want.

Slowly I turn, casting a look at the sleeping man on the bed. But maybe this is....


End file.
